The Wings of Horus
by Meercat
Summary: A falcon figurine carved from solid crystal leads Rick O'Connell and Ardeth Bey into mortal danger. Read. Review. Chapter **6** now up!
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE:**    The Wings of Horus

A Mummy fanfic

**RATING:**   PG-13 for violence and language

**CATEGORY:** Drama, angst, action/adventure

**SUMMARY:**  A falcon figurine carved from solid crystal leads Rick O'Connell and Ardeth Bey into mortal danger. Bad summary, great story, or so I've been told. Read. Review.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This is my first Mummy fic. For the supporters of Imhotep, sorry, he's not in this one. But there's plenty to keep the Ardeth and Rick fan clubs happy.

**WARNING:**  I freely admit this is a work in progress. I have the first chapters written, and the final 3 (the scenes from a dream that inspired the whole story in the first place), but I'm still working on the in-between. As of today, I do intend to finish the story. However, I start back to college next Monday, am having minor surgery on my shoulder on Wednesday, and who knows where my life will go after that? So, read at your own risk. Flames will be doused with buckets of snow that are currently falling outside my Dallas, Texas, apartment, but constructive critique will be much appreciated. Okay. On with the story!

Chapter 1

The form, clad in dark blue robes trimmed with symbols embroidered in silver thread, slid from the shadows. It flowed from the dark recesses of the balcony into the bedchamber with not the slightest sound or ruffle of wind to mark its arrival. Lamplight fell on black waves of hair beneath the turban. Distinctive black tattoos marked the man's cheeks and forehead.

     Light reflected off metal hilts and scimitar blades.

     Seeing one such reflection against the wall before him, Rick O'Connell turned away from the dresser where he'd just put away the last of his clothing. Spying the shade, he leapt back with an explosive curse.

     "Shit!" O'Connell struggled to get his racing heart back under control. "Ardeth, don't you ever _knock_?"

     "Why should I, when this way is so much more of a challenge," the Medjai grinned, "not to mention more fun."

     Rick glowered a fake "ha-ha" at his friend. Before he could say more, the desert warrior's expression turned serious.

     "I need your help, my friend. A statue has been stolen from a secret site in the Lower Kingdom. It is rumored to be on its way here, to Cairo, for sale to the highest bidder. The Medjai are sworn to retrieve the Wings of Horus and return it to its proper place."

     "So what does this statue do? Please, please, _please_ tell me it doesn't raise a mummy or unleash a deadly curse on the entire world or something?"

     "Not to my knowledge."

     Rick wilted with relief. "Thank God."

     "However, it can, according to legend, grant eternal health and long life to the person who can unlock its secrets. Should such a power fall into evil hands, it might well prove equally disastrous."

     "You just had to go and spoil it, didn't you?" Rick wagged a scolding finger at his friend. "Why can't artifacts be simple statues? Just lumps of stone with funny faces carved on them."

     "In this case," Ardeth said, "the Wings of Horus is not carved from stone but from a single clear crystal. Its eyes are rumored to be a matching pair of flawless amber stones."

     "Whoa. How big?"

     "According to the elders of the Medjai, the Wings of Horus stands as tall as my hand from wrist to fingertip." The Medjai held up his hand for reference. "His outstretched wings will sit across both my palms."

     "Sweet."

     Both men heard a faint sound from beyond the door--a single clink of metal against wood. Medjai scimitar and American sidearm slid clear of sheath and holster. Ardeth slid into place to Rick's right, ready to act the instant he pulled the portal open.

     The door flew open. Evelyn Carnahan O'Connell yipped and leaped. A rosy blush of color stained cheeks nicely framed by black ringlets that had worked their way from beneath a loose scarf. The book in her hands hit the floor with a solid _fhrump_.

     Rick set the safety and slammed the gun back into its holster. To his errant wife, he said, "Dropping eaves again, are we?"

     "No! I-No, I'm not eavesdropping . . . exactly . . . I mean, I was putting away some of my books and heard Ardeth's voice, and I couldn't help but overhear _some_ of what you were saying, but I wasn't . . . I wasn't _trying_ to listen."

     "Pull the other one. You might hear a jingling sound."

     Amused and relieved to learn their conversation had fallen on friendly ears, Ardeth Bey put away his own weapon and settled onto a nearby chaise lounge, the better to view the expectant drama.

     Rick rounded on his grinning friend. "You find this amusing, do you?"

     "Actually, yes. I do."

     "You do?" Evelyn peeked around the mosquito netting that surrounded her bed.

     "Yes. Arguments between the two of you are legend among my people."

     "Really?" Evelyn's curiosity momentarily interrupted the argument between them. "Why is that?"

     "One can never tell at the end of an argument what precisely started it. It is something of a game to guess at the beginning where the fight will end."

     "Oh, I know _precisely_ where this one is going to end," Rick stalked his wife like a prowling cat, "with her spread out over my knees ready for a hard spanking."

     "In that case," Ardeth rose to his feet with a fluid, feline grace, "I think I will excuse myself and leave the two of you to it. We will speak more tomorrow, O'Connell." With a wicked twinkle in his eye, he laid his hand over his heart and bobbed his head to the pair. "_Enjoy your evening._"

     Evelyn ducked beneath her husband's arms and darted behind a chair. "Ardeth, you're not leaving me alone with--with him--are you? Ardeth! Ri-_eeek_!"

     Ardeth Bey descended the stairs, pulled the outer doors closed behind him, and faded into the Cairo twilight. The leader of the First Tribe of the Medjai, wise in the ways of the desert, skilled in all facets of survival, knew when not to come between a man and his wife.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**SUMMARY:**  A falcon figurine carved from solid crystal leads Rick O'Connell and Ardeth Bey into mortal danger. Bad summary, great story, or so I've been told. Read. Review.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This is my first Mummy fic. For the supporters of Imhotep, sorry, he's not in this one. But there's plenty to keep the Ardeth and Rick fan clubs happy.

**WARNING:**  I freely admit this is a work in progress. I have the first chapters written, and the final 3 (the scenes from a dream that inspired the whole story in the first place), but I'm still working on the in-between. As of today, I do intend to finish the story. However, I start back to college next Monday, am having minor surgery on my shoulder on Wednesday, and who knows where my life will go after that? So, read at your own risk. Flames will be doused with buckets of snow that are currently falling outside my Dallas, Texas, apartment, but constructive critique will be much appreciated. Okay. On with the story!

**THE WINGS OF HORUS**

**By Meercat**

Chapter 2

Rick O'Connell spent most of the following day wondering what possible help he could be to the Medjai. Why did the leader of the First Tribe need an American's help, even an American who'd fought with him against both Imhotep and the Scorpion King?

Evelyn rose much later than usual, possibly due to the delightful events that followed her "spanking" for the sin of eavesdropping. After a long talk over kippers, his scholar-wife hurried off to the museum, muttering under her breath that the answers would surely lie in the scrolls and books stored in its dusty, dreary library.

     Throughout the long, hot day, Rick stayed close to the house, expecting Ardeth to reappear at any moment. He spent the time readying his travel packs and weapons in case of a sudden getaway. The former troublemaker turned adventurer thanked whatever fates arranged for their son, Alex, to board at school for the term. Evelyn's brother Jonathan, and the family solicitors, would look after him during his parents' trip to Cairo to acquire antiquities for the British Museum.

Despite every far-flung door and window and the slowly spinning wicker and palm frond fans, the air in the rooms remained cloying and stagnant. Clothing plastered against his skin, rank with sweat. Three times he washed and changed shirts, and still the Medjai did not reappear.

As the sun sank, O'Connell's Irish temper rose. By full dark, he fumed. Not even Evelyn's cheerful greeting could diffuse the rant that bubbled just beneath the surface.

"I'm sure he'll appear any second now," Evy tried to reason with her prowling husband. "He's just been delayed, that's all. Oh, dear, I do hope he isn't in trouble or something. You don't suppose he's been hurt or--or ambushed or something, do you? This city is swarming with thieves and cutthroats."

"If an entire army of Anubis warriors couldn't hurt him, I don't think he has much to fear from a Cairo street rat."

     "True enough," she agreed. Evy leaped in her seat in a sudden burst of excitement. "You won't believe what I discovered in the library. The Wings of Horus is described as a statue carved from a single piece of flawless crystal, supposedly thrown to earth by Horus himself in answer to a prayer by his priests for relief from a terrible plague. My guess is, it was a meteorite or something like that, but it still makes for a delightful story. Other than carving it in the shape of a falcon, the only addition the craftsmen made to the crystal was the placement of two unblemished amber stones for eyes. Amber was the most prized gem in Egyptian times. More precious than gold or diamonds."

     "So, Horus throws them a stone. What good did it do?"

     "According to legend, the stone has healing properties and can grant a privileged few extended life. Not eternal life, since that would be the domain of the gods alone, but extended perhaps by thousands of years."

     O'Connell pursed his lips. "I know a few people who would give a pretty penny for something like that."

     "As so I," Ardeth Bey called from the doorway to the sitting room.

     "There you are!" Evelyn greeting the Medjai with a smile. She noted the dark circles under his eyes that denoted lack of sleep and the weary slump of his shoulders that no amount of warrior pride could correct. "We were beginning to worry."

     "No, '_we_' were not," Rick countered. His greeting was anything but pleasant. "'_We_' are about to take off your head--where the hell have you been?"

     "Tracking those who have stolen the statue. I hoped to take it from them before they reached the safety of their holes but unfortunately was not successful."

     "Which reminds me," Rick said. "Why do you need me? I mean, you can call up a thousand warriors to do your bidding. What do you need me for?"

     "For one, your white skin. For another, your name. For a third, your wife's rather renowned interest in unique and mysterious Egyptian relics."

     "Excuse me?"

     Ardeth motioned toward the still-open door at his back. "Bring all the coin you possess. I will explain on the way."

     "Coin! Hold on just one damn minute! What do we need money for?"

     Irritation sharpened the Medjai's tone. "The statue is to be sold tonight. If we cannot steal it, we will have to purchase it. I have some money, but not enough."

     "And you expect _me_ to buy it for you?"

     "No, you buy it for your _wife_, who is known to collect such things. By the time those who seek the statue realize you no longer have it, the Wings of Horus will be safely hidden away beneath the desert sands."

     "And while the statue is safe, me and my family become targets!" Rick glowered at the other man. "If you weren't my friend, I'd be seriously ticked off."

     "If you were not my friend," Ardeth countered, "you would be dead long since."

     "Now, children," Evelyn chided the pair, "play nice. The sandbox is big enough to two stout young boys to play in." A soft _mrrrp_ drew Evelyn's attention to the brindle kitten cradled in the warrior's tattooed hands. "_Coooo_, she's adorable!"

     "She is yours, _beloved wife of my dear friend_, to keep you company in place of your husband."

     Evy nuzzled the purring kitten's face before looking up in wary suspicion. "In place of my husband? And where, precisely, are you taking him?"

     "To an auction of stolen relics. We should return by dawn."

     "But I'm coming with you! You'll need me to authenticate-"

     "Authenticate what?" Rick said. "How many crystal bird statues with orange eyes could there be?"

     Ardeth added his own, even more practical objections. "The section of town where we are going is no place for you, Evelyn." With one hand he grasped the hilt of a scimitar. With the other, he indicated the guns strapped beneath O'Connell's arms. "It is dangerous enough for men armed and alert."

     Evelyn set the kitten down on the wicker-backed lounge chair and glared daggers at the two men. "I am coming."

     "No, you aren't."

     Evy stamped her foot. "Yes, I am!"

     "Do you have a sense of déjà vu about this?" Rick asked. "We went through a scene like this once before."

     "Yes we did, and if you will recall, locking me in my room did nothing to stop Imhotep from absorbing another victim and--k-ugh--kissing me!"

     Rick picked up the brindle kitten and pushed her into Evy's hands. "Call me superstitious, but--hang onto her, will you?"

Before she could more than sputter a response, her husband pulled his emergency money belt from the desk drawer and followed his friend into the Cairo night.

  


TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**WARNING:**  I freely admit this is a work in progress. Yada yada yada (for translation of yadas, see chapters 1 and 2). Flames will be doused with buckets of snow that fell today outside my Dallas, Texas, apartment (I saved some in the freezer), but constructive critique will be much appreciated. Okay. On with the story!

**APOLOGIES:** Please forgive any errors I might make in either customs or language. I confess to a lazy streak that permits me to borrow phrases and customs from other writers. I mean no harm. Truly, I don't.

**THE WINGS OF HORUS**

**By Meercat**

Chapter 3

"Damn," Rick O'Connell whispered to his shadow. "I hate to tell you, buddy, but this place--and you--_stink_!"

     "When one does not wish to be closely observed," the Medjai answered, "one must do everything necessary to deter scrutiny."

     O'Connell pinched his nose in protest. "Eue de camel dung should do it."

     Soon after leaving the O'Connell home, Ardeth disappeared into an alley long enough to shed his distinctive Medjai robes. He emerged clad in the simple, earth tone style of the goat-herding nomads, his weapons hidden within the folds of his dark brown cloak. A low-wound _kafiya_ and strategically smeared applications of moist dung hid the distinctive warrior tattoos.

He followed the tall, muscular American, his posture penitent and humble, to all observers nothing more than a lowly servant traveling along behind his Caucasian master. For once, O'Connell's stout frame and chiseled features proved as much a protection for the Medjai leader as they did for the American himself. Everyone noted the large man's passage--as well as his heavily armed state--and moved out of his way. Hardly a soul gave any note to the brown shadow that trotted on his heels.

     Cairo was a city of extremes. Opulent homes surrounded by date groves, fragrant gardens, and sheltering palms, glittering under the wealth of five hundred generations, where even the servants dined on ripe fruit and finely ground breads, shared walls with dingy, rotting alleys and a hopeless, starving humanity.

     Between one finialed archway and the next, they moved out of genteel British Cairo and into the seedier, much more dangerous old city.

     Staring down one man with desires on his valuables, O'Connell clenched his teeth and muttered over his shoulder, "I still think this is a Very Bad Idea."

     "So you have said a dozen times," Ardeth replied. "If you have a better plan, please feel free to put it forth."

     "We could both go home and let the world fend for itself. No? Well, you can't blame a man for trying."

     "That alley, there, past the opium house. Turn right and follow it to the end, then go left. The location of the sale is at the rear of a warehouse."

     O'Connell followed the Medjai's directions, holding his breath as he hurried past the hashish house, and soon came to the building in question. Ahead, three men stepped into the building, admitted by a figure shorter Ardeth but twice Rick's width.    

     "Last chance to back out." Receiving a Medjai glare, O'Connell muttered, "Damn," and rapped his knuckles against the door.

^~^~^~^~^~^~^

     Ardeth Bey stared through the drawstring lip of the bag. Indirect light from a nearby window struck the eyes of the statue, glowing red in the otherwise black interior. With a superstitious shudder, he drew the string and sealed the bag.

"I cannot believe we purchased the statue for such a small amount."

     Rick glared. "Small? You call a ten-year wage _small_?"

     "In comparison to the worth of the item, yes. On beauty and uniqueness alone, the Wings of Horus should have sold for twice that amount. Three times, even." The Medjai stared into every dark corner and shadowed niche both before and behind them. "I do not like this."

     "What's not to like? Dark, moonless night, narrow, blind alleys, shadowed doorways where any and all sorts of creatures wait to pounce on poor, unsuspecting travelers."

     "Ahhh," Ardeth's expression cleared, "so that is the answer. Brilliant, my friend."

     "Huh? I mean, of course."

     "They controlled the bidding until certain you had bid everything," the Arab warrior explained. "They will then steal the statue back and auction it again for still more."

"Right. I knew that."

Ardeth shook his head and drew a short dagger from behind his back. Most of his attention remained on their rear, while Rick studied the way ahead.

"You solve the riddle and do not even know it. Tell me, O'Connell. How did you manage to survive so many trips into the desert, battle twice with Imhotep, and defeat the Scorpion King without tripping over your own lack of wit?"

     "That's easy," Rick said as he readied his pistols. "I let you lead most of the way."

     "This explains why I am always being injured and you are not."

     O'Connell snickered. "Exactly."

     "We will address this imbalance once we are safely back to your home."

     Movement in the shadows, a gray form hidden within the black patch beneath a ratty awning, caught the American's attention. "Think we'll get there?"

     "As Allah wills, _sadiqi_."

     "I have three in front. Uh, make that five."

     "Three more follow."

     Rick smiled. "The odds sounds even to you?"

     Brilliant white teeth flashed in the dusky, bearded face. "Perhaps weighed a bit in our favor, but I will not complain."

     Ardeth deliberately presented his back to the nearest dark figure. Drawn by the lure of an easy kill, the first thief struck at what he supposed to be an unwary back. He found instead twelve inches of Medjai steel across his throat.

     Masked figures poured from alley mouths and shadowed arches. Ardeth stepped over one dying enemy and met the next, ducking beneath his clumsy sword swing like water off a smooth rock. However skilled the assassin thought himself to be, he was no match for the Medjai's lifetime of training. A figure eight with the knife disemboweled one man and caught a second across the forearm, severing an artery.

The close confines helped Rick and Ardeth more than it did the thieves. Fighting back to back, they two were able to fend off attacks but could not be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

     The sharp bark of O'Connell's guns reverberated through the narrow space, making clay pots hum and ears ring. Inside a nearby home, women screamed, a baby cried, and a man yelled an Arabic obscenity. In every direction, shutters slammed shut and lock bars dropped.

Two thieves fell, shot, before a masked assassin dropped from a balcony and kicked both guns from Rick's hands.

     "Woah!" A frantic twist of his hips saved O'Connell's best parts from the thief's knifepoint. "That is not nice!"

Ardeth, locked in battle with the largest and most knife-skilled of the thieves, spared a quick glance in his direction. "You expect them to fight nicely?"

"Not particularly," Rick kicked the knife out of the man's hand and brained him with a large jar of rancid cooking oil. "There are just some things it's not polite to aim for, if you know what I mean!"

"Like what, for instance?" Ardeth toed his opponent in the groin and slashed his neck on the way down. The man's dying grasp tore the _kafiya_ from Ardeth's head, baring the forehead tattoos.

"Oh," Rick said as he saw the action, "never mind."

An assassin pointed toward Ardeth's face markings and screeched, "Medjai! Medjai!"

With screams of sheer terror, the final two survivors of the jackal pack vanished into the night.

     "Dammit to hell," O'Connell muttered.

     Drawn by the bitter fury in his friend's voice, Ardeth stepped toward him and asked, "Are you hurt?"

     "Nooooo," Rick fingered a diagonal tear across the front of his leather jacket. "Just another coat for the scrap heap. My favorite one, too. Evy and Alex gave it to me last Christmas. She's not going to be happy to see it ruined."

     "Surely her reaction won't be that terrible."

     "Think about it for a second. Evy. Not happy. Bring any pictures to mind?"

     Ardeth chuckled. "You will be sleeping in the--what is the phrase?--in the dog's house."

     "Not just me, buddy. She's going to hold you to your fair share of the blame."

     "Me!" Ardeth laid a flat palm across his chest. "I am innocent of any wrongdoing. I did not slash your clothing or step in anything aromatic."

     Rick looked down. He shook his left boot and muttered, "Shit."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**WARNING:**  I freely admit this is a work in progress. Yada yada yada (for translation of yadas, see chapters 1 and 2). Flames will be doused with buckets of snow that fell outside my Dallas, Texas, apartment (I saved some in the freezer), but constructive critique will be much appreciated. Okay. On with the story!

**APOLOGIES:** Please forgive any errors I might make in either customs or language. I confess to a lazy streak that permits me to borrow phrases and customs from other writers. I mean no harm. Truly, I don't.

**THE WINGS OF HORUS**

**By Meercat**

Chapter 4

     However often necessity forced him to shelter inside solid walls, Ardeth Bey would never accustom himself to the absence of stars, wind, and space. In the desert a man could breathe deep of jasmine and hyacinth, of spices and hot earth. He could feel the sting of blistering sand beneath his feet and the night-chilled fingers of wind in his hair.

     As he lay in the large guest bed in the O'Connell's residence, Ardeth stared through the gauzy netting, toward the open window and its view of the fading stars. A dim, rosy glow bathed the east, heralding the coming dawn.

     Even after four days on alert and so hectic a night, he found little desire for sleep. His mind and body, still primed for battle, refused to rest. Casting off any attempt at sleep, Ardeth sat up, reached beneath the unused pillows, and drew out the battered drawstring bag. With reverent hands, he slid its contents onto the duvet between his knees.

     The statue pulsed and glittered in the rising light of the new day. Each minute facet of the delicately carved feathers, furled forward as though cradling something previous, glistened and sparked with multicolored lights. The amber eyes caught and held him in their grip. The proud tilt of the falcon's head brought forth bittersweet reminders of his own lost friend. His own Horus had held his head just so, with a slightly arrogant and prideful arch, as though delighting in his grace and beauty. The slender, deadly talons gripped a crystal branch, their points biting deep.

     Ardeth stroked the crystal breast feathers, surprised to find them not cold as stone but throbbing with warmth as that of a living bird. He shivered and set the statue back on the duvet. After a last, long look, he slid it back within the confines of the bag, sealed it once more, and returned it to its hiding place beneath the pillows.

     A second probe found the hilt of the sheathed knife he kept beneath his pillow. Reassured as to the safety of both himself and his possession, the Medjai allowed his mind and body to soften into sleep.

     *_Awaken, son of the desert, blood of my blood.*_

_     Ardeth blinked against the brilliance of the sky. Sitting up, he saw not the rich, creamy linens and white-painted walls of the O'Connell's Cairo home but simple, hand spun blankets and pillows of his desert home. No tent blocked his view of the midday sky--a brilliant expanse void of either cloud or sun disk._

_     *Awaken, son of the desert, and attend my words.*_

_     Ardeth snatched up his sword and rolled to his feet, aware of but unconcerned with his own nakedness. Thigh muscles bunched, ready to move in any direction. Sculpted muscles along his back, arms, buttocks, and chest, honed to a fine definition by years of constant training, rippled beneath bronze skin. Warrior tattoos across his chest and arms leaped with every minute shift in movement._

_     Coverings and pillows, no longer needed, melted into the grassy knoll upon which he had lain._

_     Around him in all directions stretched a heavenly oasis as far as the eye could see. Fig and date trees groaned with the weight of their produce. Clusters of grapes hung heavy off their vines. Honeysuckle pollen cast a golden, heady fog into the air. The intoxicating aroma of jasmine and water lilies teased his senses. A hundred species of birds drank from the large, deep pool at the oasis' center._

_     *You wake with a warrior's spirit. This is good. You will need such strength of soul in the days ahead.*_

_     A fluting, joyous cry drew Ardeth's gaze skyward. A silver streak plummeted from the golden, sunless sky. By habit alone did the Medjai raise his arm to accept the weight of the falcon. The bird chattered and clicked as it danced along his forearm, its joy obvious to one who knows its language._

_     Ardeth dropped his sword. He stroked the breast feathers with the back of his fingers and whispered, "Horus, my old friend. Is it really you?"_

_     *Well does he recall you, son of the desert. Nor is he shy to boast of bearing so exalted a name. He speaks often of your love of him and of his kind. This pleases me.*_

_     Ardeth searched for the source of the voice but could not find it._

_     *What do you seek, son of the desert?*_

_     "Who speaks? What is this place? Is it real or an illusion? How did I come to be here?"_

_     *So many questions, yet all with one answer. This place is where I am and you came here because I willed it so. Thus, all answers return to me.*_

_     "And you are-"_

_     Laughter, like the fluting calls of a thousand falcons, rang throughout the oasis. Palm fronds fell to the ground. Flower pedals quivered on their stalks. Birds took flight and ripples danced across the water._

_     *You stand before me as naked as the day your mother thrust you wet and bloody from her womb. You stand before me with only your warrior's markings and honor to shield your innermost self from me. Arrogance suits you, son of the desert. You are Medjai indeed and worthy of the trials that lie before you. Very well. By recovering my wings and vowing to return them to their rightful place, you have earned the right to certain answers. Look upon me, Medjai, and know me.*_

_     Ardeth's gaze fell upon one bird in particular high in a fig tree, the largest falcon he had ever seen. It stared down upon him with an all-knowing gaze. With a regal sweep of its wings, it settled toward the earth. Its form twisted and swirled, first bird then man then portions of both, until at last the final form stood before him--Horus, the falcon-head god of ancient Egypt._

_     With his pet falcon still on his arm, Ardeth sank to his knees and bowed his head. His heart quivered with fear even as another part of his spirit reveled in the presence of the being._

_     *You know me.*_

_     "Horus. Son of Isis and Osiris. Husband to Hathor. The Falcon."_

_     *I am all those things and a thousand more. You recovered my wings. For this alone will you be blessed. Yet there is still more you must do. Take the statue and return it to its place within the shrine of Ebet. Return it to the temple and seal the entrance behind you. Only then will your task be complete.*_

_     "The temple will be the first place thieves will go to regain possession of the statue."_

_     *This is where my wings must go. Take it there, Medjai.*_

_     Ardeth stiffened his shoulders and dared stare the deity directly in the eye. "As you will."_

_     Piercing falcon eyes pinned the Medjai chieftain in place. *This one piece of advice will I give you. Do not go alone. Only by the a brother's strength will you succeed.*_

_     "I understand."_

_     Horus stretched forth his hand and waved it before Ardeth's face. A wave of weariness overcame the warrior, who sank down onto cushions once more in place beneath his feet._

_     *Sleep, son of the desert. When you awaken, the true journey will begin.*_

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
Over an extremely late breakfast, Ardeth Bey detailed his plan to return the statue to the temple from which it had been stolen. Rick stated his intention to accompany his friend. Instead of an inscrutable desert warrior argument against the idea, Ardeth accepted the offer with only a nod of thanks. When Evelyn asked him to explain the logic of putting the statue back in a place already discovered by thieves, he deliberately did not mention his dream, stating only that the Medjai would safeguard the site in future.  
  
As the meal progressed, the men discussed the finer points of the proposed trip, including what supplies to bring, how much ammunition to stock, how many Medjai warriors would travel with them, and what possible resistance they might find once they exchanged the relative security of the city for the sparsely populated expanse of the desert.  
  
Throughout the entire meal, Evelyn alternated between ravenous hunger and an almost lethargic slump. One moment she heartily supported the venture, the next argued vehemently against it.  
  
O'Connell swallowed an overlarge bite of eggs and washed it down with coffee strong enough to support a spoon. "How long do you think it'll take you to gather enough men?"  
  
"Not long at all. There are Medjai scattered throughout the city, including seven hidden within sight of this very house. A dozen more await my order to gather. Acquiring additional mounts for you will be the only thing to prevent our leaving as early as tomorrow morning."  
  
"Seven warriors within sight of this house, did you say?" Evelyn asked.  
  
"After bringing the danger to your door, however reluctantly," Ardeth said, "I would be a poor friend indeed if I didn't take steps to minimize the threat."  
  
Shaking her head, Evy tsked in false displeasure. "And you let us think you'd just get the statue and vanish."  
  
Unable to take any more of her uncharacteristically uncertain behavior, Rick kissed her cheek and said, "Honey, could you maybe pack me a bag? You've been in the deep desert often enough to know what I'll need."  
  
"Yes, of course." She brightened and bounced out of her chair. "I should have thought of that. I'll go do it right away."  
  
Evelyn smiled and hurried out of the dining room. Free at last, the men finished their meal in peace.  
  
Rick patted his overfull stomach and leaned back with a hearty sigh. The slats of his chair creaked under the shift in weight.  
  
"I'm glad I enjoyed that," he said, "since it's probably going to be the last sand-free, hot meal I eat for the next few weeks."  
  
As O'Connell stretched the kinks from his lower back, he spotted his companion's thoughtful, almost puzzled, expression.  
  
"Something on your mind?"  
  
Ardeth turned away but not before Rick spied a suspicious rise in color along the desert warrior's cheeks. Ardeth Bey, blushing? What could possibly embarrass the man who commands an army of the most feared warriors of the Egyptian desert?  
  
"Ardeth?"  
  
"It is nothing."  
  
"Obviously not, or it wouldn't be sitting in your thoughts like a mossy log. Whatever's on your mind, spit it out."  
  
Ardeth Bey debated a long moment more. He struggled to find the most diplomatic words possible.  
  
"I mean no offense to either yourself or Evelyn but . . . I can't help but notice she seems . . . somewhat-"  
  
"Scatterbrained? Befuddled?"  
  
"Yes. She has always been the most logical and unshakable of women. If anything, age and experience have served only to strengthen those qualities. This 'scatterbrained' side is a one I've never seen."  
  
Rick shrugged even as his eyes danced.  
  
"It's not the first time she's been like this." At the Medjai's inquiring look, he expanded, "It happened once before. About, oooohhhhh, ten-eleven years ago now."  
  
Ardeth mentally back-stepped the years. He blinked and calculated again.  
  
"You mean-? You're certain?"  
  
Rick puffed up, his smirk pompous to the point of overweening. "As certain as a husband can be about these things. I mean, it's been awhile since--certain things have, er, curtailed--certain other things." Rick shrugged away any further explanation, a wise decision since he'd already given his friend ample reason to laugh. "I'm just waiting for her to figure it out."  
  
"Congratuations, sadiqi."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"You realize, of course, she will want to accompany us on our journey. This might not be wise, especially if your suspicions are correct."  
  
"No problem there. If I say she's staying, she's staying."  
  
Ardeth answered with a raised eyebrow and enough skepticism to make his opinion quite clear.  
  
"What?" Rick challenged the look. "You doubt I can control my wife?"  
  
"Twice you have defeated Imhotep, as well as returned the Scorpion King to his place in the Underworld," Ardeth said, "but this, my friend, I say to you. No man born can honestly say he can control his wife. The ones who make that claim are fools."  
  
"Then I guess I'm a fool. Evelyn Carnahan O'Connell will not be joining us on this adventure. Period. End of story."  
  
TBC 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

     A two-day boat ride down the Nile carried Rick O'Connell, Ardeth Bey, and ten Medjai shadows well away from the civilized region around Cairo. The river journey proved uneventful, save for the rather noticeable space that formed around them whenever fellow travelers saw the dozens of weapons carried by each man. Passengers who did not recognize the tattoos were quickly enlightened by those who did. The cone of space expanded until the Medjai spent more time alone than not.

     On the third night, the party of horsemen camped at a small oasis deep in the untracked desert of the Lower Kingdom. At the center of the tiny glade, in the midst of an unbroken expanse of white sand and rolling dunes, a tiny spring bubbled up through a mound of rocks. The water gathered into a pebble-lined pool one foot deep and three wide.

     As the sole Caucasian amidst dark-skinned, tattooed Arabs, O'Connell was the only pale blot in the entire camp. Even the horses, with their sorrel, bay, or chestnut coats, blended into the moonless shadows. The Medjai's dark blue robes contributed, no doubt, to their reputation as ghosts of the Egyptian sands. Only O'Connell, clad in camel colored pants and a sweat-stained, once-white shirt, skin and hair tinted gold in the light of a small cook fire, remained readily visible.

     As he walked past, Ardeth handed his friend a rolled fragment of frayed cloth. By the time the Medjai reached the far side of the fire, O'Connell had unwrapped the coil to reveal four thick strips of dried meat.

     "Do I want to know what kind of animal this came from?"

     Ardeth bit the end of his own strip and grinned, "I would say not."

     "Oh. Okay."

     A horse stamped and snorted on the picket line, jostling its neighbors and disturbing the entire string. The nearest warrior stepped over to sooth the beast with gentle pats and soft, soothing words.

     "See?" Rick O'Connell crowed as he gnawed on a strip of jerky. "What did I tell you? No Evelyn. End of story."

     Settling onto a blanket to eat his own meager meal, Ardeth favored his friend with his most inscrutable gaze.

     "I know that look," Rick said.

     Ardeth continued to chew as he studiously examined the leather of his sword belt for any sign of wear. "What look might that be?"

     "_That_ one." O'Connell pointed directly at Ardeth. "The one on your face, the one that says you have a secret you're just dying to share with me."

     "Ahhh. _That_ look." Ardeth glanced up to see one of his scouts entering the camp. "Jamal?"

     Jamal bin Ibrahim, the most experienced tracker in the party next to Ardeth himself, nodded once and held up four fingers. Message delivered, he uncorked a water skin, tossed his head back, and filled his mouth with the lukewarm liquid.

     "Ardeth?" O'Connell recalled the Medjai's attention.

     "Yes?"

     "Are you going to tell me or not?"

     "What is there to tell," Ardeth shrugged; his eyes danced in the firelight, a poorly managed smile on his face, "other than the fact that your wife hides in a wadi a dozen meters beyond the ring of our firelight?"

     "What?" Rick jerked around and studied the dark desert around the camp. "But--how-"

     "Surely you saw her on the boat."

     "On the-" Rick narrowed his eyes in pique. "No, I didn't see her on the boat. Did you?"

     "Twice."

     Ardeth slid his scimitar into its metal belt hoop and laid the weapon on the ground at his feet. He turned his attention to the bindings of his knife hilts. The leather of one grip was loose close to the pommel. He'd have it repaired as soon as he returned to the main Medjai stronghold.

     "_Twice?_"

     "Once when she stabled her horses," Ardeth reported, "and again late the first night as she crept onto deck for a bit of fresh air."

     Rick favored the Medjai with a glower hot enough to scorch sand. "I don't suppose it crossed your mind, _even once_, to tell me about it?"

     "She is your wife," Ardeth grinned. "It is not my place to help you keep up with her."

     "I should kill you right now. I really should. Or at the very least beat you to a pulp."

     "Which would you prefer--to fight me or to do something about your woman, whom I might remind you is very likely pregnant? Do you wish to leave her out in the desert all night or will be invite her into the camp?"

     "One of your men can take her back-"

     Ardeth shook his head. " Our party is already too small. We can't spare even one man."

     "But-"

     "The situation cannot be changed." Ardeth slashed the air between them with his hand, officially ending the discussion. His tone reminded Rick of Ardeth Bey's power as First Medjai. "The best we can do is adapt."

     Rick gnashed his teeth, hissed a curse, and tossed the remains of the jerked meat into the fire. He faced the darkness and yelled, "Evelyn Carnahan O'Connell! When I get my hands on you, you're going to wish you _had_ married that juicy mummy! He'd've been a hell of a lot nicer to you than _I'M _going to be!"

     Two men rushed to calm the startled horses. The warrior who'd only just settled the first restless beast, his work now undone, glowered at O'Connell. The Medjai who could not understand English readied their weapons and searched for the cause of his anger until a whispered explanation from Jamal eased their concerns. All of them smiled. One man dared to laugh.

     Long moments passed before a slight figure led two horses into the first broken shadows around the oasis. Though weary and dirty, Evelyn showed little of the exhaustion one might expect from a woman who'd spent a hard day traveling across sandy desert.

     "Umm. Hello, husband."

     Rick squinted, growled, and bared his clenched teeth.

     "Oh dear." Evy ducked her shoulders and glanced toward Ardeth. "I don't suppose he's very happy right now."

     "No, I do not believe 'happy' would describe his feelings," the Medjai chieftain answered.

     "Ohhh dear," she repeated with more trepidation, in the same vocal tones her husband might use to say, "ohhh shit."

     Rick pointed to the sand at his feet. His every word carried a distinct threat. "You. Will. Come. Here."

     "Ummm. I'd rather not. If that's all right."

     "You. Will. Come. Here. Right. Now."

     Her own temper piqued, she dug her heels into the sand and said, "No." What the word lacked in power, it more than made up for in pride.

     "Dammit, Evelyn."

     One large leap carried Rick across the distance, where he grabbed Evy's shoulders and tried to shake sense into her. Someone laughed, a hard bray of sound that cut through his anger. A glance around showed every Medjai in the camp watching their every move. White teeth flashed in the campfire light. Tattooed warriors elbowed one another and pointed to the feuding couple.

     Rick led Evelyn to the far side of the spring. The short distance gave them some semblance of privacy.

     "Why are you so upset?" Evelyn asked before her husband could resume his scold. "We've traveled in the desert a dozen times since we married. Why should this trip be any different?"

     "Because . . ."

     Rick sighed, anger submerged under softer, more fragile emotions. He laid his wide, calloused palm across her still-flat stomach. His thumb rubbed back and forth across her lower rib cage. Both voice and body language gentled with love.

     "Because I think you might be pregnant."

     "I am."

     Rick blinked. "What?"

     "I am. Pregnant."

     He stiffened from crown to heel. "You know?"

     "A wife knows these things." Evy blushed with a mix of embarrassment and pride. "Things tend to interrupt . . . things."

     "You know?"

     "Rick? Why are you looking at me like that?"

     "You _know_, and you're _OUT HERE ANYWAY?_" Rick grabbed her shoulders and shook his wife until her teeth rattled. His normally deep voice rose to an almost feminine screech. "Evelyn, are you _INSANE_?"

     "No, but I will be deaf if you keep shouting at me like that."

     "Do you have any idea of the risk you're taking?"

     "I _have_ been pregnant _before_, Richard Alexander O'Connell. Remember Alex, our _son_?"

     "Before, yes. In _London_, where there are doctors and hospitals and soft beds and servants and family to help you! In case you haven't noticed, we are in the middle of a gawd-damned _desert_! And funny, I don't see a single doctor, hospital, or soft bed!"

     "It's not like I'll be giving birth out here," she countered. "That's still six or seven months away."

     "Problems can develop _long_ before then and you know it. Dammit, Evy. I lost you once." His voice broke. "I couldn't stand it if-"

     A familiar horror passed across Rick's face. Evelyn saw it often following their fight with Anck-su-Namun, Imhotep, and the Scorpion King. Recollections of her brief visit to Heaven had faded to gossamer dreams. Later memories--when Rick panicked if she disappeared unexpectedly or when Alex awoke at night screaming for his mother not to die--lingered. Hard images, their sharp edges sliced open new wounds at unexpected moments.

     Evelyn tried to soothe away the terror with gentle strokes along his cheek and jaw. Her eyes met his and tried to convey to him her strength and love.

     "I know, Rick. You won't lose me. We've both survived far too many supernatural dangers to be frightened by more mundane things that _might_ be."

     "I love you so much."

     "I know."

     A whisper of cloth caught Rick's ear. Ardeth stood close by, his face shielded in shadow.

     "Well, it looks like you were right," Rick said. "I'm a fool." He raised a cautioning finger to his wife. "No comments from the peanut gallery."

     "I will not argue." Despite his joking words, the Medjai's demeanor was unexpectedly grim. "However, we have larger problems than your wife's disobedience."

     Instantly sobered, O'Connell pulled Evy close to his side and asked, "What is it?"

     "Another of my scouts reports a second party in the desert. They camp at an oasis some two hours' ride to the north." Ardeth pointed that direction with his chin. "According to Iben, they number fifty men, well provisioned and heavily armed. We are outnumbered some four-to-one."

     "So?" Evy failed to see the relevance. "It could be a caravan or . . . or innocent travelers or . . . something quite . . . benign."

     Ardeth shook his head. "Iben recognized two of the men."

     "Lemme guess," Rick sighed. "They were in the gang that robbed the temple and stole the statue in the first place. And they're headed back that direction."

     "Yes, and unfortunately yes."


End file.
